i
tchmnn ano
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KB* SUMTER WATCHMAN, Kttablished April, 1850.
flKso idat di.u?. 2,1881.
"Be Just and J^ear not-Let alllthe Ends thou Aims't at, be thy Country's, thy God's and Truth's."
THE TRUE SOUTHRON, Established Jone, 1366
SUMTER, S. C., WEDNESDAY, APRIL 4, 1894.
New Series-Yoi. XIII. No. 36.
CHAPTER L
THE STORY OF THOMAS WTNGFIELD.
I, Thomas Wingfield, -was born here at
Ditchingham and in this very room where
I write today. I am sprung from the fam
ily of the Wingfields of Wingfield castle,
in Suffolk, that lies some two hours on
'horseback from this place. My grandfa
ther was a shrewd man, more of a yeoman
than a squire, though his birth was gentle.
He it was who nought this place with the
lands round it and gathered up some for
tune, mostly by carefully marrying and
living, for though he had *but one son he
was twice married, and also by trading in
cattle.
Now, my grandfather was godly minded
even to superstition, and, strange as it
may seem, having only one son, nothing
would satisfy him but that the boy should
1? made a priest. But my father had lit
tle leaning toward the priesthood and life
in a monastery, though at all seasons my
grandfather strove to reason it into him,
sometimes with words and examples, at
others with, his thick cudgel of holly that
still hangs over the ingle in the smaller
sitting room The end of it was that the
lad was sent to the priory here in Bungay,
where his conduct was of such nature that
"within a year the prior prayed his parents
to take him back and set him in someway
of secular life. Not only, said the prior,
did my father cause scandal by his actions,
breaking out of the priory at night and
visiting drinking houses and other places,
but such was the sum of-Ms wickedness
he did not scruple to Question and make
mock of the very doctrines of the church,
alleging even that there was nothing sa
cred in the image of the Virgin Mary
which stood in the chancel, and shut his
eyes in prayer before all the congregation
when the priest elevated the host. ''There
fore," said the prior, "I pray you to take
back your son and let him find some other
road to the stake than that which runs
through the gates of Bungay priory."
It was believed both by my grandfather
and the prior that the true cause of my fa
ther's contumacy was a passion which he
had conceived for a girl of humble birth, a
miller's fair daughter who dwelt at Wa
ingford Mills. So the end of it was that
he went to foreign parts in the care of a
party of Spanish monks, who had journey
ed here to Norfolk on a pilgrimage to the
shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham.
Thus it chanced that when he had sailed
from Yarmouth a year and six months
there came a letter from the abbot of the
monastery in Seville to his brother, the
prior of St. Mary's at Bungay, saying that j
my father had fled from the monastery.
Two more years passed away, and then
came other news?namely, that my father
had been captured; that he had been hand
ed over to the power of the holy office, as
the accursed inquisition was then named,
and tortured to death at Seville. When
my grandfather heard this, he wept. Still
he did not believe that my father was dead
in truth, since on the last day of his own
life, that ended two years later, he spoke
of him as a living man and left messages
to h as to fhe management of the lands
which were now his.
And in the end it became clear that this
belief was not ill founded, for one day,
three years after the old man's death, there
landed at the port of Yarmouth none oth
er than my father, who had been absent
some eight years in all Nor did he come
alone, for with him he brought a wife, a
young and very lovely lady, who afterward
was my mother. She was a Spaniard of
noble family, having been born at Seville,
and her maiden name was Donna Luisa de
Garcia.
There were three of us children?Geof
frey, my elder brother, myself and my sis
ter Mary, who was one year my junior,
the sweetest child and the most beautiful
that I have ever known. We were very
happy children, and our beauty was the
pride of our father and mother and the
envy of other parents. I was the darkest
of the three, dark indeed to swarthiness,
but in Mary the Spanish blood showed
only in her rich eyes of velvet hue, and in
the glow upon her cheek that was like tho
blush on a ripe fruit.
My mother used to call mo her little
Spaniard because of my swarthiness?that I
is, when my father was not near, for such
names angered him. She never learned to
speak English very well, but he would
suffer her to talk in no. other tongue before
him. Still when he was not there she
spoke in Spanish, of which language, how
ever, I alone of the family became a mas
ter, and that was more because of certain
volumes of old Spanish romances which
she had by her than for any other reason
From my earliest childhood I was fond of
such tales, and it was by bribing me with
the promise that I should read them that
she persuaded me to learn Spanish, for
my mother's heart still yearned toward her
old sunny home, and often she would talk
of it with us children, more especially in
the winter season, which she hated as I I
da Once I asked her if she wished to go
back to Spain She shivered and answered
no, for there dwelt one who was her en
emy and would kill her; also her heart
was with us children and our father.
Now, when I was 1$% years old, on a
certain evening in the month of May, it
happened that a friend of my father's,
Squire Bozard, late of the hall in this par
ish, called at the lodge on his road from
Yarmouth, and in the course of his talk
let it fall that a Spanish ship was at an
chor in the roads laden with merchandise.
My father pricked up his ears at this and
asked who her captain might be. Squire
Bozard answered that he did not know
his name, but that he had seen him in the
market place, a tall and stately man, rich
ly dressed, with a handsome face and a
car upon his temple.
At this news my mother turned pale be
neath her olive skin and muttered in Span
ish:
''Holy Mother, grant that it be not he!"
My father also looked frightened and
questioned the squire closely as to the
man's appearance, but without learning
anything more. Then he bade him adieu
with little ceremony, and taking horse
rode away for Yarmouth.
That night my mother never slept, but
eat all through it in her nursing chair,
brooding over I know not what. As I left
her when I went to my bed^so I found her
when I came from it at dawn. I can re
member well pushing the door ajar to see
her face glimmering white in the twilight
of the May morning as she sat, her large
eyes fixed upon the lattice.
l?You have risen early, mother, " I said.
"ITiaverieveFl??S down, Thomas^lne
answered.
"Why not? What do you fear?"
"I fear the past and the future, my son.
Would that your father were back."
About 10 o'clock of that morning, as I
was making ready to walk into Bun gay to
the house of the physician under whom I
was learning the art of healing, my father
rode up. My mother, who was watching
at the lattice, ran out to meet him.
Springing from his horse, he embraced
her, saying: "Be ot good cheer, sweet; it
cannot be he. This man has another
name."
*'But did you see him?" she asked.
"No; he was out at his ship for the
night, and I humed home to tell you,
knowing your fears. "
"It were surer if you had seen him, hus
band. He may well have taken another
name."
"I never thought of that, sweet," my
father answered, "but have no fear.
Should it be he, and should ho dare to set
foot in the parish of Ditchingham, there
are those who will know how to deal with
him. But I am sure that it is not he. "
"Thanks be to Jesu then!" she said,
and they began talking in a low voice.
Now. seeing that I was not wanted, I
took my cudgel and started down the
bridge path toward the common foot
bridge, when suddenly my mother called
me back.
"Kiss me before you go, Thomas," she
said. "You must wonder what all this
may mean. One day your father will tell
"Kiss mc before you go, Thomas" she
said.
you. It has to do with a shadow which
has hung over my life for many years, but
that is, I trust, gone forever."
"If it be a man who flings it, he hud
best keep out of reach of this," I said,
laughing and shaking my thick stick.
*'It is a man," she answered, "but one
to be dealt with otherwise than by blows,
Thomas, should you ever chance to meet
him."
''May be, mother, but might is the best
argument at the last, for the most cunning
have a life to lose. "
''You are too ready to use your strength,
son," she said, smiling and kissing me.
"Remember the old Spanish proverb, "Ho
strikes hardest who strikes last. ' "
"And remember the other proverb,
mother, 'Strike before thou art strick
en,' " I answered and went.
I never saw her again till she was dead
CHAPTER IL
THE COMING OF THE SPANIARD.
And now I must go back and speak of
my own matters. As I have told, it was
my father's wish that I should be a phy
sician, and since I came back from my
schooling at Norwich?that was when I
had entered on my sixteenth year?I had
studied medicine under the doctor who
practiced his art in the neighborhood of
Bungay. He was a very learned man and
an honest, Grimstono by name, and as I
had some liking for the business I made
good progress under him.
Medicine was not the only thing that 1
studied in those days, however. Squire
Bozard of Ditchingham, the same who
told my father of the coming of the Span
ish ship, had two living children, a eon
and a daughter, though his wife had borne
him many more wuo died in infancy.
The daughter was named Lily and of my
own age, having been born three weeks
after me in the same year.
From our earliest days we children, Bo
zards and Wingflelds, lived almost as
brothers and sisters, for day by day we met
and played together in the snow or in the
flowers, Thus it would be hard for me to
say when I began to love Lily or when she
began to love me, but I know that when
I first went to school at Norwich I grieved
more at losing sight of her than because I
must part from my mother and the rest.
In all our games she was ever my partner,
and I would search the country round for
days to find such flowers as she chanced
to love. When I came back from school,
it was the same, though by degrees Lily
grew shier, and I also grew suddenly shy,
perceiving that from a child she had be
come a woman. Still we met often, and,
though neither said anything of it, it was
sweet to us to meet.
Thus things went on till this day of my I
mother's death. But before I go further I
must tell that Squire Bozard looked with
no favor on the friendship between his
daughter and myself, and this not because
ho disliked me, but rather because ho
would have seen Lily wedded to my elder
brother, Geoffrey, my father's heir, and not
to a younger son. So hard did ho grow
about tho matter at last that we two i
might scarcely meet except by seeming ac
cident, whereas my brother was ever wel
como at the hall. And on this account
some bitterness arose between us two broth
ers, as is apt to be the case when a woman
comes between friends, however close, for
it must be known that my brother Gwffrey
also loved Lily, as all men would have
loved her, end with a better right perhaps
than I had, for he was my cider by three
years and born to possessions.
Now, when I had attained 19 years I was
a man full grown, and, writing as I do in
extreme old age I may say it without false
shame, a very handsome youth to boot. I
was not overtail indeed, measuring but 5
feet 9% inches in height, but my limbs
were well made, and I was both deep and
broad in the chest. In color I was, and,
my white hair notwithstanding, am still,
extraordinarily dark hued; my eyes also
were large and dark, and my hair, which
was"wavy, ^vvas c?i?? Tflacfc. TrTr?v deport
I ment I was reserved and grave to sadness;
i in speech I was slow and temperate and
? more apt at listening than in talking. I
j weighed matters well before I made rip
I my mind upon them, but being made up
nothing could turn me from that mind
short of death itself, whether it were set
on good or evil, on folly or wisdom. In j
those days also I had little religion, since j
partly because of my father's secret teach
ing and partly through the workings of ;
my own reason I learned to doubt the doc- i
trines of the church as they used to bo set ?
out.
On this sad day of which I write I knew
that Lily, whom I loved, would be walk
ing alone beneath the great pollard oaks j
in the park at Ditchingham hall. Here, j
in Grubswell, as the spot is called, grew, j
indeed still grow, certain hawthorn troes I
that are the earliest to blow of any in these j
parts, and when we had met at the church j
door on the Sunday Lily said that there
would be bloom upon them by the Wednes
day, and on that afternoon she should go
to cut it. It may well be that she spoke
thus with design, for love will breed cun
ning in the heart of the most guileless and
truthful maid. Then and there I vowed
to myself that I also would be gathering
hawthorn bloom in this same place, and
on that Wednesday afternoon?yes, even
if I must play truant and leave all the
sick of Bungay to nature's nursing. More
f over, I was determined on one thing?that
if I could find Lily alone I would delay no
longer, but tell her all that was in my
heart, no great secret indeed, for though
no word of love had ever passed between
us as yet each knew the other's hidden
thoughts.
Now, it chanced that on this afternoon 1
was hard put to it to escape to my tryst,
for my master, the physician, was ailing
and sent me to visit the sick for him,
carrying them their medicines. At the
last, however, between 4 and 5 o'clock, I
fled, asking no leave. Taking the Nor
wich road, I ran for a mile and more till 1
had passed tho Manor House and the
church turn and drew near to Ditching
ham park. Then I dropped my pace to a
walk, for I did not wish to come before
Lily heated and disordered, but rather
looking my best, to which end I had put
on my Sunday garments. Now, as I went
down the little hill in the road that runs
past the park I saw a man on horseback
who looked first at the bridle path that at
this spot turns off to the right, then back
across the common lands toward the Vine
yard hills and the Waveney, and then
along the road, as though he did not know
which way to turn. I was quick to notice
things, though at this moment my mind
was not at its swiftest, being set on other
matters and chiefly as to how I should tell
my tale to Lily, and I saw at once that
this man was not of our country.
Ho was very tall and noblo looking,
dressed in rich garments cf velvet adorned
by a gold chain that hung about his neck,
and, as I judged, about 40 years of age
But it was his face which chiefly caught
my eye, for that moment thero was some
thing terrible about it. It was long, thin
and deeply carved. The eyes were large
and gleamed like gold in sunlight; the
mouth was small and well shaped, but it
wore a devilish and cruel sneer, the fore
head lofty, indicating a man of mind, and
marked with a slight scar. For the rest
the cavalier was dark and southern look
ing; his curling hair, like my own, was
black, and he wore a peaked chestnut col
ored beard.
By the time that I had finished these
observations my feet had brought me al
most to the stranger's side, and for the
first timo he caught sight of me. Instantly
his face changed, the sneer left it, and it
became kindly and pleasant looking. Lift
ing his bonnet with much courtesy, he
stammered something in broken English
of which all I could catch was the word
Yarmouth. Then, perceiving that I did
not understand him, he cursed the Eng- j
lish tongue, and all those who spoke it,
aloud and in good Castilian.
"If the senor will graciously espress his
wish in Spanish, ' ' I said, speaking in that
language, ''it may be in my power to help
him."
"What, you speak Spanish, young sir!"
he said, starting, "and yet you are not a
Spaniard, though by your face you well
might be. Caramba, but it is strange!"
and he eyed me curiously.
"It maybe strange, sir," I answered,
"but I am in haste. Be pleased to ask
your question and let me go. ' '
4-Ah, " ho said, "perhaps I can guess the
reason of your hurry. I saw a white robo
down by the streamlet yonder," and ho
nodded toward the park. 4'Take tho ad
vice of an older man, young sir, and be
careful. Make what sport you will with
such, but never believe them and never
many them?lest you should live to desiro
to kill them!"
Here I made as though 1 would pass on,
but he spoke again:
"Pardon my words; they were well
meant, and perhaps you may come to learn
their truth. I will detain you no more.
Will you graciously direct nie on my road
to Yarmouth, for I am not sure of it, hav
ing ridden by another way, and your Eng
lish country is so full of trees that a man
cannot see a mile?"
I walked a dozen paces down the bridle
path that joined the road at this place and
pointed out the way that he should go,
past Ditchingham church. As I did so I |
noticed that while I spoke the stranger
was watching my face keenly, and it seem
ed to me with an inward fear which ho
strove to master and could not. When I
had finished, he raised his bonnet and
thanked me, saying:
"Will you bo so gracious as to tell me
your name, young sir?"
"What is my name to you?" I answered
roughly, for I disliked this man. 4'You
have not told mo yours. "
"No, indeed; I am traveling incognita
Perhaps I also have met a lady in these
parts, ' ' and he smiled strangely. "I only
wished to know the name of one who had
donc me a courtesy, but who, it seems, is
not so courteous as I deemed." And he
shook his horse's reins.
"I am not ashamed of my name," I
said. ''It has been an honest one so far,
and if you wish to know it it is Thomas
Wingfiold."
"I thought it, " he cried, and as he spoke
his face grew like the faco of a fiend. Then
before I could find time even to wonder
he had sprung from his horse and stood
within three paces of me.
"A lucky day! Now we will sec what
truth there is in prophecies," ho said,
drawing his silver mounted sword. "A
name for a name; Juan de Garcia gives
you greeting, Thomas Wingfield. "
Now, strange as it may seem, it was at
this moment only that there flashed across
my mind tho thought of all that I had
heard about tnc fcpanlsn stranger, the re
port of whoso coming to Yarmouth had
Btirred my father and mother so deeply.
At any other timo I should have remem
bered it soon cnouph, but on this day I
was 6o eel? upon my tryst with Lily and
what I ?hould say to her that nothing j
clso could hold a place in my thoughts.
"This must bo the man," I said to my- j
self, and then I said no more, for he was I
on me, sword up. I saw the keen point ?
flash toward mo and sprang to one side, j
having a desiro to fly, as, being unarmed
except for my stick, I might have dono ?
' without shame. Hut spring as I would I
! could not avoid the thrust altogether. It
i was aimed at my heart, and it pierced the
sleeve of my left arm, passing through the
flesh?no more. Yet at the pain of that cut
all thought of flight left me, and instead
of it a cold anger filled mc, causing me to
wish to kill this man who had attacked
mo thus and unprovoked. In my hand
! was my stout oaken staff, which I had cut
myself on the banks of Hollow hill, and if
I would fight I must make such play with
this as I might. It seems a poor weapon
indeed to match against a Toledo blade in
the hands of one who could handle it well,
and yet there arc virtues in a cudgel, for
when a man sees himself threatened with
it he is likely to forget that he holds in
his hand a more deadly weapon, and to
take to the guarding of his own head in
place of running his adversary through
the body.
And that was what chanced in this case,
though how it came about exactly I can
not telL The Spaniard was a fine swords
man, and had I been armed as he was
would doubtless havo overmatched mo,
who at that age had no practice in the art,
which was almost unknown in England
But when he saw the big stick flourished
over him he forgot his own advantage and
raised his arm toward away the blow.
Down it came upon the back of his hand,
and his sword fell from it to the grass.
But I did not spare him because of that,
for my blood was up. The next stroke
( took him on the lips, knocking out a tooth
and sending him backward. Then I caught
him by the leg and beat him unmerciful
ly, not upon the head indeed, for now that
I was victor I did not wish to kill one
whom I thought a madman, as I would
that I had done, but on every other part of
him.
Indeed I thrashed him till my arms were
weary, and then I fell to kicking him, and
all the while he writhed like a wounded
snake and cursed horribly, though he never
cried out or asked for mercy. At last I
ceased and looked at him, and he was no
pretty sight to see. Indeed what with his
cuts and bruises and the mire of the road
way it would have been hard to know him
for the gallant cavalier whom I had met
not five minutes before. But uglier than
all his hurts was the look in his wicked
eyes as he lay there on his back in the path
way and glared up at me.
"Now, friend Spaniard," I said, '"you
have learned a lesson, and what is there to
hinder me from treating you as you would
have dealt with me who had never banned
you?" And I took up his sword and held
it to his throat.
"Strike home, you accursed whelp!" he
answered in a broken voice. "It is better
to die than live to remember such sham^
as this."
ikNo," I said; ' am no foreign murder
er to kill a defenseless man. You shall
away to tho justice to answer for yourself.
The hangman has a rope for such as you. "
"Then you must drag me thither, " he
groaned and shut his eyes as though with
faintness, and doubtless he was somewhat
faint.
Now, as I pondered on what should be
done with the villain, it chanced that I
looked up through a gap in the fence, and
there, among the Grubswell oaks 800 yards
or more away, I caught sight of the flutter
of a white robe that I knew well, and it
seemed to me that the wearer of that robe
was moving toward the bridge of the "wa
tering," as though she were weary of wait
ing for one who did not come.
Then I thought to myself that if I staid
to drag this man to the village stocks or
some other safe place there would be an
end of meeting with my love that day, and
I did not know when I might find another
chance. Now, I would not have missed that
hour's talk with Lily to bring a score of
murderous minded foreigners to their de
1 thrashed him till my arms icerc weary.
serfs. And, moreover, this one had earned
good payment for his behavior. Surely,
thought I, he might wait awhilo till I had
done my lovemaking, and if he would not
wait I could find a means to make him do
so. Not 20 paces from us the horse stood
cropping the grass. I went to him and
undid his bridle rein, and with it fastened
tho Spaniard to a small wayside tree as
best I was able.
"Now, here you stay," I said, ''till lam
ready to fetch you, " and I turned to go.
But as I went a great doubt took me,
and once more I remembered my mother's
fear, and how my father had ridden in
haste to Yarmouth on business about a
Spaniard. Now today a Spaniard had wan
dered to Ditchingham, and when he learn
ed my name had fallen upon me, madly
trying to kill me. Was not this the man
whom my mother feared, and was it right
that I should leave him thus that I might
go Maying with my dear? I knew in my
breast that it was not right, but I was so
set upon my desire and so strongly did
my heartstrings pull me toward her
whose white robe now fluttered on the
slope of tho Park hill that I never heeded
the warning.
Well had it been for mc if I had done so
and well for some who were yet unborn
Then they had never known death, nor I
the land of exile, the taste of slavery and
the altar of sacrifice.
CHAPTER III.
THOMAS TELLS HIS LOVE.
Having made tho Spaniard as fast as I
could, his arms being bound to the tree
behind him, and taking his sword with
mc, I began to run hard after Lily and
caught her not too soon, for in one more
minute she would have turned along the
road that runs to tho watering and over
tho bridge by the Park hill path to the
hall.
Hearing my footsteps, she faced about to
greet me, or rather as though to see wno
it was that followed her. There she stood
in the evening light, a bough of hawthorn
bloom in her hand, and my heart beat yet
more wildly at the sight of her. Never
had sho seemed fairer than as she stood
thus in her white robe, a look of amaze
upon her face and in her gray eyes that
was half real, half feigned, and with the
sunlight shifting on her auburn hair that
showed beneath her littlo bonnet. Lily
was no round cheeked country maid, with
few beauties save those of health and
youth, but a tall and shapely lady, who
had ripened early to her full grace and
sweetness, and so it camo about that,
though we wcro almost of an age, yet in
her presence I felt always as though I wcro
the younger. Thus in my love for her was
mlngl?tl some ?o'uc?i o? "reference.
'' Oh, it is you, Thomas, ' ' she said, blush
ing as she spoke. "I thought you were 1
Having made tlie Spaniard as fast as I
could.
not?I mean that I am going home, as it '
grows late. But, say, why do you run so
fast, and what has happened to you,
Thomas, that your arm is bloody and you
carry a sword in your hand?"
"I have no breath to speak yet, " I an
swered. "Comeback to the hawthorns,
and I will tell you. "
"Ko; I must be wending homeward. I
have been among the trees for more than
an hour, and there is little bloom upon
them."
' I could not come before, Lily. I was
kept and in a strange manner; also I saw
bloom as I ran. "
"Indeed I never thought that you would
come, Thomas," she answered, looking
down, "who have other things to do than
to go out Maying like a girl. But I wish
to hear your story, if it is short, and I will
walk a little way with you. " .
So we turned and walked side by side
toward the great pollard oaks, and by the
time that we reached them I had told her
the talc of the Spaniard, and how he
strove to kill mc, and how I had beaten
him with my staff. Now, Lily listened ea
gerly enough and sighed wich fear when
she learned how close I had been to death.
"But you are wounded, Thomas!" she
broke in. See, tho blood runs fast from
your arm. Is the thrust deep?"
"I have not looked to see. I have had no
time to look."
Take off your coat, Thomas, that I
may dress the wound. Nay, I will have
it so."
So I drew off the garment, not without
pain, and rolled up the shirt beneath, and
there was the hurt?a clean thrust through
the fleshy part of the lower arm. Lily
washed it with water from the brook and
bound it with her kerchief, murmuring
words of pity all the while. To say truth,.
I would have suffered a worse harm glad
ly if only I could find her to tend it. In
deed her gentle care broke down the fence
of my doubts and gave me a courage that
I otherwise might have failed me in her
presence. At first indeed I could find no
words, but as she bound my wound I bent
down and kis.=ed her ministering hand
She flushed red as the evening sky, the
flood of crimson losing itself at last be
neath her auburn hair, but it burned deep
est upon the white hand which I had kiss
ed.
"Why did you do that, Thomas?" she
said in a low voice.
Then I spoke. ?' did it because I love
you, Lily, and do not know how to begin
the telling of my love. I love you, dear,
and have always loved, as I always shall
love you."
"Are you so sure of that, Thomas?" she
said again
"There is nothing else in the world of
which I am so sure, Lily. What I wish
to be as sure of is that you love me as I
love you."
For a moment she stood quiet, her head
sunk almost to her breast. Then she lift
ed it, and her eyes shone as I had never
seen them shine before.
"Can you doubt it, Thomas?" she said.
And now I took her in my arms and
kissed her on the lips, and the memory of
that kiss has gone with me through my
long life and is with mc yet, when, old
and withered, I stand upon the borders of
the grave. It was the greatest joy that
has been given to me in all my days. Too
soon, alas! it was done, that first pure kiss
of youthful love, and I spoke again, some
what aimlessly:
"It seems, then, that you do love mc
who love you so well?"
"If you doubted it before, can you doubt
it now?" she answered very softly. ''But
listen, Thomas. It is well that we should
love each other, for we were born to it and
have no help in the matter, even if we
wished to find it. Still, though love be
sweet and holy, it is not all, for there is
duty to be thought of, and what will my
father say to this, Thomas?"
"I do not know, Lily, and yet I can
guess. I am sure, sweet, that he wishes
you to take my brother Goeffrey and leave
me on one side."
"Then his wishes are not mine, Thomas;
also, though duty be strong, it is not
strong enough to force a woman to a mar
riage for which she has no liking. Yet it
may prove strong enough to keep a woman
from a marriage for which her heart pleads.
Perhaps also it should have been strong
enough to hold mo back from the telling
of my love."
"No, Lily; the love itself is much, and
though it should bring no fruit, still it is
something to have won it forever and a
day."
"You are very young to talk thus,
Thomas. I am also young, I know, but
we women ripen quicker. Perhaps all
this is but a boy's fancy, to pass with boy
hood."
"It will never pass, Lily. They say that
our first loves are the longest, and that
which is sown in youth will flourish in
our age. Listen, Lily. I have my place to
make in tho world, and it may take a time
in the making, and I ask one promiso of
you, though perhaps it is a selfish thing to
seek. I ask of you that you will be faith
ful to me, and, come fair weather or fouL
Will wed no other man till you know me
dead."
4'It is something to promise, Thomas,
for with time come changes. Still I?m
so sure of myself that I promise?nay, I
Bwcar it. Of you I cannot be sure, but
things arc so with us women that wcmiujt |
risk all upon a throw, and if we lose good- |
by to happiness."
Then wo talked on, and I cannot re
member what we said, though these words \
I havo written down remain in my mind, j
partly because of their own weight and
in part because of all that came about in
the after years.
And at last I knew that I must go,
though we were sad enough at parting.
So I took her in my arms and kissed her
so closely that some blood from my wound
ran down hcrwhito attire. But as wo
embraced I chanced to look up and saw a
sight that frightened mo enough, for
there, not five paces from us, .stood .Squire
Bozard, L?^s"Tarl?e"r7^atc^ihg all, "and
his face wore no smile.
He had been riding by a bridle path to
the watering ford, and seeing a couple
-trespassing beneath the oaks dismounted
from his horse to hunt them away. Not
till he was quite near did he know whom
he came to hunt, and then ho stood still
in astonishment. He was a short, stoat
man, with a red face and stern, gray eyes
that seemed to be starting from his head
with anger. For awhile he could not
speak, but when he began at length the
words came fast enough. All that he said
I forget, but the upshot of it was that he
desired to know what my business was
with his daughter. I waited till he wrs
out of breath, then answered him th; ;
Lily and I loved each other well and were
plighting our troth.
' Is this so, daughter?" he asked.
"It is so, my father," she answered
boldly.
Then he broke out swearing. "You
light niinx," he said, "you shall be whip
ped and kept cool on bread and water in
your chamber. And for you, my half bred
Spanish cockerel, know once and for all
that this maid is for your tetters. How
dare you come wooing my daughter, you
empty pillbox, who have not two silver pen
nies to rattle in your pouch! Go win for
tune and a name before you dare to look
up to such as she!"
"That is my desire, and I will do it,
sir," I answered.
"So, you apothecary's drudge, you will
win name and place, will you? Well,
long before that deed is done the maid
shall be safely wedded to one who has
them and who is not unknown to you.
Daughter, say now that you have finished
with him."
'*I cannot say that, father," she replied,
plucking at her robe. "If it is not your
will that I should marry Thomas here,
my duty is plain, and I may not wed him.
But I am my own, and no duty can make
me marry where I willnot. While Thomas
lives I am sworn to him and to no other
man."
"At the least you have courage, hussy,"
said her father. "But listen now. Either
you will marry where and when I wish
or tramp it for your bread. Ungrateful
girl, did I breed you to flaunt me to my
face? Now for you, pillbox! I will teach
you to come kissing honest men's daugh
ters without their leave, " and with a curse
he rushed at me, stick aloft, to thrash me.
Then for the second time that day my
quick blood boiled in me, and snatching
up the Spaniard's sword that lay upon the
grass beside me I held it at the point, for
the game was changed, and I who had
fought with cudgel against sword must
now fight with sword against cudgel. And
had it not been that Lily, with a quick
cry of fear, struck my arm from beneath,
causing t he point of the sword to pass over
his shoulder, I believe truly that I should
then and there have pierced her father
through and ended my days early with a
noose about my neck.
' Are you mad?" she cried, ''and do you
think to win-me by slaying my father?
Throw down that sword, Thomas."
"As for winning you, it seems that there
is small chance of it, " I answered hotly,
"but I tell you this?not for the sake qf all
the maids upon the earth will I stand to
be beaten with a stick like a scullion."
"And there I do not blame you, lad, "
said her father, more kindly. ' see that
you also have courage, which may serve
you in good stead, and it was unworthy
of mo to call you 'pillbox' in my anger.
Still, as I have said, the girl is not for you,
so begone and forget her as best you may,
and if you value your life never let me
find you two kissing again. And know
that tomorrow I will have a word with
your father on this matter. "
"I will go, since I must go," I answer
ed, "but, sir, I still hope to live to call
your daughter wife. Lily, farewell till
these storms arc overpast."
' Farewell, Thomas," she said, weeping.
"Forget me not, and I will never forget
my oath to you."
Then, taking Lily by the arm, her father
led her away.
I also went away?sad, but not alto
gether ill pleased, for now I knew that if
I had won the father's anger I had also
won the daughter's unalterable love, and
love lasts longer than wrath, and here or
hereafter will win its way at length.
When I had gone a little distance, I re
membered the Spaniard, who had been
clean forgotten by me in all this love and
war, and I turned to seek him and drag
him to the stocks, which I should have
done with joy and been glad to find some
one on whom to wreak my wrongs. But
when I came to the spot where I had left
him I found that fate had befriended him
by the hand of a fool, for there was no
Spaniard, but only the village idiot, Billy
Minns by name, who stood staring first at
the tree to which the foreigner had been
made fast and then at a piece of silver in
his hand.
** Where is the man who was tied here,
Billy?" I asked. . .
[ be continued.]
Cold Bridle Bits.
During the bitter cold weather in win
ter much suffering is thoughtlessly in
flicted on horses by putting cold bridle
bits into their mouths. If the person
who does this will apply his tongue to a
piece of iron on a frosty morning, he will
understand at once what the suffering to
the poor brutes is. To slightly warm the
bits before putting them into the horse's
mouth would require only a small ex
penditure of labor. This can be done by
rubbing them with a blanket or other
cloth a moment or two if other means of
warming is not at hand. The beneficial
results in the gentleness of the animal
will amply compensate it._
Scrofula on His Head
Which became a mass of corruption, spread so
that it got into our little boy's eyes. The sores
Clarence D. Crockett
pread over his neck and we thought he would be
blind. The doctors failed ; we gave him Hood's
Sarsaparilla, Several bottles cured him after
we had despaired of his ever getting well. He
Is now a bright and healthy child. D. M.
Crockett, Jr., Murfreesboro, Tennessee.
Hood's^ Cures
Even when all other preparations fail. Be sure
to get Hood's and only Hood's.
Hood's P??s should be in every household.